


She's Got You High

by orphan_account



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, College AU, F/M, Slow Build, Student/Teacher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:42:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles thinks he's got it all figured out. Charlie doesn't think she belongs. They're both wrong. Alternatively, the one where Miles is a college professor, Charlie really likes coffee, and Nora is just about done with everyone's shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! I've decided to embark on the very new journey of writing a chaptered fic. This one's a slow burner, so I hope you'll stick with it. A few quick things about this AU: in this verse, Charlie and Miles are not related, Ben and Miles were college buddies, and, yes, there's an original character, since there weren't any canon female characters young enough to be her roommate. I hope you'll learn to love her. Okay, I think that's it. Let's get this show on the road, shall we?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles Matheson is a college professor with a decent job and a few skeletons in his closet. His new life is calm, stable, and perfectly uninteresting - until a student stumbles into his class late and changes everything.

The night before the start of the new term, Miles spends 3 hours leaning against the balcony of his shabby apartment, smoking a cigarette and slowly working his way through a bottle of scotch. It is, after all, his last night of freedom, the last time he can get drunk off his ass before he has to go back to being a responsible, mature adult.

Not that Miles hates his job. The kids are okay (most of the time), the pay is decent, and he honestly enjoys his subject. Sure, his military history classes tend to draw a lot of apathetic freshmen who are only there to fill a credit, but there are always one or two bright kids who make class enjoyable. And even if he hated the job, he’d still be grateful to Ben for giving him the position at Mitchell University when nobody else would take him. All around, it’s a good deal. Blab on about different types of aircrafts, grade a few papers, get paid.

Miles breathes out a thin trail of smoke, watching it curl into the cool autumn night and making a mental note to double up on the mouthwash. If Nora smells nicotine on his breath tomorrow, she’ll probably, in her own colorful words, “stick his lighter where the sun doesn’t shine.”

When he’d asked her that afternoon if she wanted to go to the bar later, she’d raised her eyebrow and said, “What? Don’t you have freshmen seminar first thing in the morning?”

“So?”

“So, do you really want to be hungover in front of your students?”

“Yeah, like half of them won’t be hungover too.”

Nora had rolled her eyes. “It’s the principle of the thing. That is, if any of your students actually show up. Does anyone actually take military history? They should take something useful. Like chemistry.”

“Oh, excuse me for not devoting my life to blowing shit up!”

“That’s not why I do this job! I do it because I want to instill a love of science in my students and empower more women to enter a male-dominated field!”

“And you get to blow shit up?”

“And I get to blow shit up.”

And so, Miles had found himself on his balcony, alone except for the company of his scotch. He glances down at his watch, which is flashing 12:43 in the semi-darkness. He sighs and drops his cigarette, grinding it into the concrete with his shoe. Nora has a point. He should turn in soon if he wants to be up in time for his 9 A.M. class.

Miles steps back into his apartment, letting the door to the balcony swing shut behind him. It’s going to be a long year.

 

***

“Hey, I’m Cara, so nice to meet – holy crap, you’re beautiful!”

Charlie blinks, warily eyeing the short, bubbly girl with black hair and a pixie cut. “Um… thanks?”

“Your hair looks so soft!” Before Charlie can stop her, the girl – Cara, Charlie reminds herself – is reaching out to stroke her sandy blonde hair with a look of wonder on her face. “Wow!”

“Um…” Charlie clears her throat. “Can I come in now?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, of course!” Cara moves out of the way, and Charlie steps into the tiny dorm room, hauling her suitcase after her. Cara has already claimed the bed farthest away from the door. The wall near her bed is covered ceiling to floor with an eclectic mix of posters, ranging from a portrait of Virginia Woolf to a Firefly poster featuring a life-sized Gina Torres. The bed itself is covered in beanie babies, comic books, and a rice-cooker. Well, Charlie thinks, at least she’ll never be bored.

“Anyway, like I said, I’m Cara! I’m so happy to be your roommate!”

Cara reaches out her hand, and after a moment, Charlie takes it. “Charlie,” she says. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m so excited to start class!” Cara says happily, flopping down onto her bed. The mattress squeaks, and something that looks suspiciously like a box of matches falls onto the floor. Charlie gulps. “I’m gonna be a theatre major! You?”

“Um… I’m not sure yet. Probably business.”

“Fun!” Charlie wonders briefly if she’s being sarcastic, but her smile seems genuine. “Too bad we have to get up early for seminar, though. Which one are you in?”

“20th Century U.S. Military History. I wanted Latina Women Writers, but it was full.”

“Aw, too bad!” Cara rolls over onto her stomach. “I’m in biochemistry.”

Charlie frowns. “What does that have to do with theatre?”

“Nothing!” she says cheerfully. “I just thought the professor was really cute. Like a cross between Naya Rivera and Natalie Wood.”

“… right,” Charlie says, pulling her suitcase onto her bed and starting to unpack. It’s going to be a long year.

 

***

“I’m Professor Matheson, and I’ll be teaching your freshmen seminar course this semester.”

Miles paces in front of the whiteboard, surveying his class. It’s the same every year: he picks out the stoner, the slacker, over-eager note taker, the kid who wanted to get into Stanford but had to settle for Mitchell and will probably a pain in the ass all year.

“The purpose of freshmen seminar”, he continues, “is to help you get to know your peers, make sure your writing skills are at a college level, and, hopefully, teach you more about a subject you’re interested in. As your seminar teacher, I’ll also be your academic advisor for the rest of the year, so we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. Please see me after class sometime this week to schedule an individual meeting with me.”

Miles takes a long pull of coffee before circling around to the front of his desk, leaning back against the wood. “Well, enough of that. Let’s get started. Before we can start studying World War I, we need a basic understanding of the U.S. military prior to the 20th century. Please get out your books and - ”

The door to classroom slams loudly against the wall as a girl bursts into the room, soaking wet, her hair plastered to her head, trailing rainwater and a sopping book bag as she looks up and meets Miles’s gaze. Miles resists the urge to roll his eyes. It’s the first day of class, and he already has a tardy.

“Nice of you to join us,” he says dryly, glancing down at her mud-covered boots in distaste. “Only ten minutes late, but hey, better late than never.” The girl glares at him and starts making her way over to the only empty desk, which is, of course, in the front row.

Miles grabs a pen and the class roster off his desk and walks over to her, ignoring the quiet laughter from the back of the classroom and staring down at her in what he hopes is an imperious manner. “Can I get a name, kid?”

“Charlie.”

“You got a last name, Charlie?”

She sighs and looks away, crossing her arms over her chest. “Mitchell,” she says reluctantly.

That causes a stir within the classroom, and Miles raises an eyebrow. “Well, Ms. Mitchell, try to be on time. I don’t like my students being late, even if they’re the president’s daughter.”

She glares up at him from her desk, and man, if looks could kill. He just flashes a charming grin at her before walking back to the whiteboard. “Now, as I was saying, please turn to page 15 of your textbooks.”

The rest of the class goes smoothly and without interruption. Charlie is quiet in her front row seat, but Miles can practically feel her glaring at the back of his head every time he turns to write something on the whiteboard. He’d had no idea that Ben’s girl was in his class, but then again, that’s his fault for not reading over the roster. She’s grown a lot since the last time he’d seen her, just a little 10-year-old kid with pigtails and an enormous smile. That was back before the war, before everything. He’d be surprised if she even remembers him.

At the end of the period, the students immediately start packing up their things. “Hold on, I’m not done with you yet! For homework, read pages 20-25 and answer the essay question at the end of the chapter. I want two pages, single spaced, and I want them by Wednesday.” The students groan as they begin to file out. “Hey, it’s college! Better get used to it. Oh, and Mitchell?” he adds. She turns and looks at him warily. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

She pauses, then brushes her way back through the small crowd at the door. Miles leans back against his desk, waiting for the rest of the students to leave. When the room is empty except for them, Miles looks down at Charlie, who is staring resolutely at her muddy boots. “Hey, no need to worry. You’re not in trouble. I just wanted to say hi. It’s a been a while.” Charlie looks up at him, clearly confused. “I’m Miles. Miles Matheson, your dad’s friend from college.”

“Oh,” Charlie says, comprehension dawning on her face. “Yeah, I remember you. You’re Uncle Miles.”

“I’d prefer Professor Matheson, if you don’t mind.”

She quirks an eyebrow at him, the warmth that had briefly entered her eyes evaporating. “Alright. _Professor._ ”

She turns to leave, and Miles can’t help but be impressed by the way she managed to turn that word into an insult. “Hey, don’t be late next time!” he calls after her. “And you might want consider investing in an umbrella!”

She ignores him, letting the door slam shut behind her. Miles chuckles quietly before sitting down at his desk to go over next week’s lesson plans.

 

***

  
Charlie’s been in college for less than a day, and it’s already one of the worst days of her life. Things had gone downhill the minute she’d woken up and realized that she’d slept through her alarm. She’d scrambled into her clothes, grabbed her bag and hurried out of her dorm, without a spare minute to stop for breakfast. She’d stumbled into class exactly 1 minute early, only to find that she was not only in the wrong room, but the wrong building. She’d dashed back outside, and the instant she’d left the building, it had suddenly started to rain. 10 minutes later, she’d finally found the right classroom, soaking wet and cursing Boston and it’s freakish weather. And now, to top it all off, the entire school already knows her as “the president’s daughter”.

When Charlie storms out of the building, her mood darker than the rainclouds above her, she finds Cara waiting for her, waving and looking unreasonably cheerful. She does have an umbrella though, so Charlie walks over to her gratefully.

“How was your first class?” Cara asks, once Charlie is safely under the umbrella.

“Terrible.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Well, mine was great! I mean, I didn’t understand half of it, but Professor Clayton really is gorgeous!” Charlie can’t help but grin at that.

“Come on,” she continues, “Let’s get some lunch. I’m starving!”

Cara takes her hand and starts walking to the dining hall. Charlie is taken aback at first, but the touch feels familiar, and oddly comforting, so she just grins and listens to Cara prattle on about Professor Clayton’s mnay merits. They eat lunch together, and Charlie learns a few new things about her roommate: her favorite superhero is a tie between Black Widow and Wiccan, she aspires to join an all-women’s Shakespeare troupe after college, she’s not actually serious about Professor Clayton because she’s still with her girlfriend from high school. To her surprise, Charlie finds herself sharing a few things about herself as well. She tells Cara about her brother Danny and her favorite books, and by the time they’re leaving the cafeteria, Charlie’s mood has improved considerably. Maybe this year won’t be so bad after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles is confused, Charlie briefly considers murder, and Jason makes an appearance.

It’s two weeks, ten lectures and one essay into the semester, and Miles still doesn’t know what to make of her.

Charlie’s a good student, there’s no doubt about it. She turns in her work on time, she aces the first few reading quizzes, and, with the exception of the first day, she’s never late to class. But there’s something a little off in the way she addresses him, stretching out _professor_ into all of its long, mocking syllables. There’s something about the way she smirks archly at him every time she raises her hand to answer a question, as if daring him to call on her. Something in the way leaves class the second the period ends, slipping out of the room before he’s even taken off his reading glasses. 

“I don’t like it,” Miles says grumpily, in between bites of cinnamon-apple scone. “Headstrong is one thing, but _disrespectful_ \- ”

“Has she ever actually said or done anything disrespectful to you?” Nora interrupts exasperatedly. 

“Well… no. But it’s the way she looks at me! It’s like she’s _trying_ to piss me off!”

Nora rolls her eyes, taking a sip of coffee. “Get out of my office, Miles. I have papers to grade. And stop stealing my breakfast!” she adds, slapping his hand away when he reaches for more of her scone. “Buy your own damn food!” 

Miles snatches up another chunk of scone anyway, grinning smugly at Nora’s death glare on his way out.

Class that morning is par for the course. About a third of the class has actually done the reading, and rest of them bullshit their way admirably through the discussion. When he announces their next project at the end of a class (a research paper on a topic of their choice related to World War I), the students groan collectively, except for Charlie, who calmly writes the due date down in her planner.

When class is over, Miles makes a beeline for her desk, cutting her off before she has a chance to escape from the classroom. She almost bumps into his chest, then steps back, gazing up at him quizzically. “Is there a problem, sir?” she asks, in the polite but subtly mocking tone that’s been putting Miles on edge.

“Yes, actually,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back on the desk next to hers. “You haven’t scheduled a meeting with me yet, Mitchell. As your academic advisor, I’m required to meet with you at least once each semester. You free any time next week?”

Charlie shifts uncomfortably, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “Um… next week is pretty busy for me.”

“Okay, this weekend, then. How about tomorrow afternoon?”

“… Sure,” she agrees reluctantly. “Is 3 okay?” 

“3 is great.” Charlie nods briskly and brushes past him. “See you then!” he calls after her, and then, because he can’t resist, “Hey, there’s supposed to be rain tomorrow! You bought that umbrella yet?”

Charlie shoots him glare over her shoulder (uncannily similar to Nora’s), and Miles is pretty sure she would have flipped him off if she hadn’t been worried about getting a detention. Miles grins, mentally awarding himself a point. He’s not sure when this became a game, but he’s enjoying it.

 

***

 

On Saturday morning, Charlie’s plan of sleeping until 2 P.M. is brought to an abrupt halt by a pillow flying towards her head from the opposite side of the room. She groans and rolls over, using the offending pillow to cover her face and block out the bright rays of sun trickling in from the window. A few seconds later, there’s a loud _thump_ as Cara throws herself onto Charlie’s bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. “Get up, sleepy head,” she says brightly, prying the pillow away. Charlie groans again, beginning to harbor homicidal urges towards her roommate.

“Go away, Cara. I’m sleeping.”

“Not anymore you’re not!” she says, sounding far too cheerful for – what time is it anyway? Charlie glances at her alarm clock: 10 A.M. Far too early, by her standards.

“You should get dressed,” Cara continues, hopping off of the bed and moving over to their shared mirror to check her hair. “The activity fair starts in half an hour.” 

Charlie finally gives up on falling back asleep and sits up, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. When her brain finally starts to catch up with the rest of her body, she says, “Activity fair?” To be honest, it probably sounds more like “Acabie wah?”, but hey, she tried.

“Yep. Didn’t you get the email? All the clubs and extracurriculars have booths set up in the courtyard so the freshman can decide which ones they want to join. And some of them have free food!” Charlie can’t help thinking that Cara’s a little (a lot) more excited than the occasion warrants. “Oh, yeah that reminds me,” she continues, gesturing to a cup on her desk. “I picked up some coffee at the caf!” 

That finally gets Charlie out of bed. She stumbles groggily over to the cup and drinks about half of it in one gulp. The aforementioned homicidal urges fade quickly. Maybe she’ll let Cara live after all.

Thirty minutes later, Charlie, miraculously, finds herself dressed and fully vertical, trailing through the sea of bodies in the courtyard as Cara prattles on happily about the drama club. When they reach the booth, Cara drops her hand and begins to chat animatedly with the club president, and Charlie lets her attention wander, scanning the banners above the other booths.

“Charlie, right?”

Charlie starts, and turns to find the owner of the voice: a handsome, well built young man with dark skin and a buzz cut. “I’m Jason,” he says. “I think we’re in the same freshman seminar?”

“Oh, yeah!” Charlie says, recognizing him from her military history class. “Sorry.” 

“No problem”, he says, extending his hand. After a second, Charlie takes it, returning his grin. 

“Have you considered the archery team?” he continues, nodding towards the booth behind him.

“Not really.” Charlie makes her way over to the booth and flips absentmindedly through one of the pamphlets. “You do archery, then?”

“Yeah.” Jason moves in closer to her, peering at the pamphlet over her shoulder. “The team captain went to grab some lunch, so he left me in charge of the booth.” 

Charlie turns, finding him much closer than she’d expected. “Well, you’re doing a splendid job with the PR, but I think I’ll pass on this one. I doubt I’d even make the team.”

“Oh, I don’t know. We’re pretty short on members.” He takes a step and gives her a quick once over before his eyes flick back up to meet hers. “Besides, you have the right build. And you’re in _excellent_ shape.” 

Charlie blushes, but tries not to let her embarrassment show. “That’s not gonna work, you know.”

Jason blinks, then grins, putting on an expression of feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! My intentions are strictly honorable.” 

Charlie smirks. “Of course they are. But for the record,” she adds, setting the pamphlet back down, “Flattery will get you nowhere. Coffee, however, will get you everywhere.” 

Jason’s answering grin is unmistakably flirtatious, and when he speaks, his voice is pitched a little lower than usual. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Charlie can’t decide if she’s relieved or disappointed when Cara pops out of nowhere and grabs her arm. “Come on Charlie, stop flirting!” she says, starting to pull her away from the booth. “There are lots of clubs I still wanna see!” 

“I wasn’t flirting!” Charlie protests, feeling herself blushing again. Jason laughs, and Charlie shoots him a half-hearted glare.

“See you around then,” he says, completely unfazed.

“Yeah. See you in class.”

And then Cara’s dragging her away, still talking a mile a minute. “Hey, let’s go to the GSA booth! I hope there are some cute girls!”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “Cara, you have a girlfriend.” But she goes along without any further protests, managing to pick up a brochure of her own as they pass by another booth: _Inkslingers, Creative Writing at Mitchell._

***

 

At exactly 2:59 P.M., Miles hears a knock on his office door. He pulls off his reading glasses and sets down his mug of coffee (his fifth of the day), swiveling his chair to face his visitor. “Come in.”

 Charlie opens the door and walks into the office, looking uncertainly around the room. Miles gestures towards the chair in front of his desk, and she sits, dropping her shoulder bag beside her. Miles rummages around in his desk for a moment before pulling out her file and setting it on the desk between them. He folds his hand together, meeting Charlie’s eyes over the heaps of paper, and she smiles back at him, just this side of too polite. Miles decides to cut right to the chase.

“Okay, Mitchell, first things first: why are you avoiding me?”

Charlie blinks, but she covers her surprise well. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sir.”

Miles sighs and leans back a little in his chair. “Come on, Mitchell, don’t play dumb. You’re a bright kid. Just… tell me. Please.”

Charlie stares him down for a second longer before she lets out an indignant huff and looks away, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not… it’s not about you,” she says finally, eyes fixed determinedly on Miles’s stapler. “Or your class, or your teaching. It’s just that… I don’t want people thinking I’m only here because my family owns the school. Sometimes it feels like people can’t see past that. So on the first day of class, when you…”

“… Oh.” Miles leans back, feeling a little surprised and very, _very_ stupid.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Charlie continues. “It was really immature of me to act the way I did, and - ”

“Hey,” Miles says, gently cutting her off. “ _I’m_ the one who should be sorry. I was kind of an asshole on the first day, wasn’t I?”

Charlie grins, and Miles thinks it might be the first genuine smile he’s seen on her. “Yeah,” she says. “I guess it just comes naturally to you.”

Miles lets out a surprised bark of laughter. “Careful, now. I’m still your teacher.”

“Of course. _Professor._ ”

Miles rolls his eyes, but when he speaks again, his voice is completely serious. “And just for the record… you’re your own person, Charlie. You aren’t defined by me or your dad or anyone else, okay? I just want you to know that I know that.”

Charlie looks slightly taken aback, but then her expression melts into something a little softer. For the first time, Miles feels the awkward tension between them begin to dissolve. 

“Alright, onto business,” he says, opening her file and reaching for a pen. “As you already know, you don’t have to declare your major until the end of sophomore year, but can you tell me what your major would be if you had to decide today?”

“Business and management,” she says quickly. The answer is cold, practiced and completely dispassionate, but Miles just raises an eyebrow and makes a note.

“Okay. Mind if I take a look at your course schedule?”

The rest of the meeting isn’t much different from all the others. He skims Charlie’s schedule, makes sure she’s on track to get enough credits for a business major, and gives her the obligatory speech about adjusting to college life. “Feel free to come see me any time,” he finishes. “I’m always available if you need help, or if you just want to talk.” Oddly enough, that last bit doesn’t feel half as forced as it did with all the other students. Miles stubbornly pushes that thought aside, not willing to analyze it at the moment.

Charlie nods. “Thanks, professor,” she says, without a hint of sarcasm. She stands, pulling her bag back onto her shoulder. “Well… see you Monday, then.”

“See you Monday.”

As she turns to go, a slip of paper falls out of her bag and onto his desk. Miles picks it up and offers it to her, glancing at the heading. “Inkslingers? I didn’t know you were a writer.”

Inexplicably, Charlie blushes and looks almost guilty. She grabs the brochure and stuffs it back into her bag, muttering, “It – it’s not for me. My roommate… um. Yeah.” Miles stares up at her, completely baffled. “Anyway… see you.” 

She leaves quickly, almost tripping over herself on the way out. Miles watches her go, then turns slowly back to his desk. “Huh,” he says, before brushing the incident out of his mind and returning to work.

 

*** 

 

Back in her dorm room, Charlie pulls the Inkslingers brochure out of her bag and flips through it slowly. What she’d told Professor Matheson was true: she didn’t want people to think she was only at Mitchell because of the family connection. What she hadn’t told him was that she was having trouble believing it herself.

Charlie sighs and looks at the clock.

“Screw this.”

She walks over to her desk to get her economics textbook, dropping the brochure in the trashcan on her way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait, guys! I'll try to make the updates more regular from now on!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie has really nice ankles. Not that Miles notices, of course. In other news, Maggie is a worried mother hen, everyone's a bit of a stubborn idiot, and truly unhealthy amounts of coffee are consumed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's a been a while! Blame AP Calculus, a.k.a. the worst decision of my life to date. I'm really excited about what's to come in the next few chapters, and I'm eager to get going, so there probably won't be such a long wait next time. Thanks for your patience!

Apparently, Charlie interprets “feel free to come see me any time” to mean “feel free to make my office your personal study hall”, because after their meeting, she starts showing up at his door during her free periods. She’s hesitant about it at first, knocking before entering and asking for his permission to stay and work, but by the second week, she’s walking into his office like she owns the place and dumping her textbooks onto his desk without so much as a “good afternoon, Professor Matheson.” Miles feels like he should be annoyed, but the truth is, he’s come to look forward to Charlie’s visits, which have become an almost daily occurrence. She always seems to know when he needs to work undisturbed, and on days when the workload is light, she’s a welcome distraction from the tedium of grading quiz after quiz after quiz.

Today is one of those days filled with mindless grading, and Miles, though he’d sooner face an angry Nora armed with explosives than admit it, is grateful for Charlie’s company. She’s telling him about her roommate’s most recent exploits, and Miles half-listens, letting her voice wash over him as he scratches notes into the margins with a red pen. 

“… And now she’s working on this experimental piece involving music, right? So she’s spent the past week playing her viola nonstop. She’s actually really good, so I don’t mind most of the time, but it gets kind of annoying at 2 A.M.”

“Is that why you’re in here bothering me all the time?” Miles asks, adding a quiz to the finished pile. “The crazy roommate?” 

Charlie laughs softly, and shakes her head. “She’s not crazy. I mean, she kind of is, but in a good way. She’s a real sweetheart. Anyway,” she says, obviously trying for nonchalance but not entirely succeeding, “she’s basically the only friend I’ve made here, so.”

Miles eyes her over the rims of his reading glasses. Charlie’s smile has gone a little hard around the edges, and Miles feels an unexpected surge of – something. Protectiveness, maybe, or anger at anyone who’s ever made her feel lonely. Eventually he clears his throat, setting down another half-graded quiz. “Well… I’m glad you have her, then.” 

“Yeah,” Charlie says quietly. “Thanks.” 

When she smiles again, it only looks a little fake. “Besides,” she says, slipping her feet out of her sandals and kicking them up onto the desk, “I don’t think I’m bothering you. If you didn’t want me here, you’d just throw me out.” 

Miles shoots her an unamused look. “Feet off the table, kid.” 

But Charlie, _the cheeky little shit_ , just grins even wider and crosses her feet, lounging back a little in her chair. Miles sighs and leans forward, closing one hand around her left ankle. “Off.” 

Charlie meets his eyes stubbornly, and Miles raises an eyebrow in response, very decidedly _not_ noticing the softness of her skin or the small, delicate bones of her ankle. For an odd moment it feels like some sort of challenge, as if Charlie’s daring him to be the first one to move. But then Charlie lets out an annoyed sigh and slides her feet off the desk. If the touch lasted a little longer than is strictly appropriate, she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t comment on it. Miles clears his throat, picking up his pen again and searching around for something to say. He finally settles on, “How’s your paper going?” 

“Fine,” Charlie says, and to his surprise, she looks pleased, maybe even a little excited. “I’m writing about the effects of the war on Western literature. You know, disillusionment, _The Hollow Men_ , the lost generation. I think you’ll really like it.” 

“I’m sure I will. But, hey,” Miles says, meeting her eyes over the rims of his glasses, “Make sure the paper doesn’t lose its focus. This is supposed to be a history paper, not literary criticism.”

“Yeah, okay,” she replies, not looking up from the notebook she’s been scribbling in off and on for the past hour. She nibbles a bit on the end of her pencil, and there’s a quick flash of pink on pink as her tongue brushes against the eraser.

Not that Miles notices, of course.

 

*** 

A week later, after a long afternoon of grading papers, Miles is in the teacher’s lounge refilling his mug with coffee (black, no sugar) when he hears a familiar voice and looks up to see Ben Mitchell walking towards him. The president’s house is on the opposite side of campus, and Miles can’t imagine what would bring him to the humanities building at this hour. Nonetheless, he tops off his mug and forces a grin, crossing the tiny room to shake Ben’s hand. Ben grips his hand a little too tight, and Miles can see the tense muscles of his jaw standing out under the fluorescent light.

“Miles, how are you?” he asks, voice tight and clipped. “I haven’t seen you since the commencement ceremony!” 

“Fine, Ben. You?”

“Good. Great.” Ben’s smile looks even more forced than Miles’s, own and his eyes keep flitting distractedly around the room. Miles is the one to break the awkward silence. 

“So… is there something you wanted to see me about?”

“Oh, you know. Just wanted to catch up.”

Miles raises his eyebrows. “Okay Ben, out with it. What’s up?”

Ben sighs, his face crumpling from its strained smile. He sits down in one of the worn armchairs by the coffee machine, and gestures for Miles to join him. Miles does, sinking into the chair next to Ben’s and wrapping his fingers around the coffee mug to warm them. When Ben doesn’t speak immediately, Miles is tempted to press his further, but instead he watches the patterns of tiny bubbles swirling in his coffee, letting Ben get his thoughts together.

“It’s about Charlie.” Miles looks up in surprise. “You’re her academic advisor, right?”

“Yeah, I am.”

Ben nods, still not meeting Miles’s eyes. “Is… is she doing alright?” 

Miles frowns. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?” 

Ben sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “We’re not exactly on speaking terms at the moment.” 

Miles blinks, then quickly looks back down at his coffee. “… Oh.”

Of all the things Miles had expected, this was pretty close to the bottom of the list. The last time he’d seen Charlie and her father together, they’d gotten along just fine. Then again, that was nearly 10 years ago, before Rachel had died and Ben had met Maggie. Of course their relationship would have changed. 

Ben looks at him expectantly, and Miles realizes that he hasn’t answered his question. “Um,” he says, clearing his throat. “She’s doing well, as far as I know. Her grades are great. She and her roommate seem to be getting along.” 

Ben nods, eyes still fixed on his clasped hands. Miles sighs, and reaches over to put his mug on the rickety table to the left of his armchair. “Look, Ben,” he says, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, “I know it’s none of my business, but don’t you think you should be talking to her, not me? I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure if you just apologized - ”

“There’s nothing to apologize for!” Ben snaps. “I was just trying to look out for her and she… I dunno. She took it the wrong way.” He sighs, carding his fingers through his hair. “It’s something she needs to work out on her own. She’ll talk to me when she’s ready.”

Miles can’t help but smirk a little. “In other words, you’re too stubborn to be the first one to apologize?” Ben shoots him a half-hearted glare, and Miles chuckles. “You two are very alike.”

Ben frowns. “You make it sound like you know her pretty well.”

For some stupid, inexplicable reason, that throws him off. “Well, I’m her advisor, so I’ve seen her a few times outside of class,” he says, ignoring the twinge of guilt in the back of his mind, because really, what the hell does he have to feel guilty about? 

Ben smiles tiredly. “Good.” He stands, and Miles follows suit. They stand awkwardly for a moment, and then Ben extends his hand. He grips Miles’s hand for a second and holds his gaze. “Miles… look after her, okay? I’m worried about her.” Miles nods, a little taken aback, and Ben drops his hand and turns to go. “See you around.”

“Yeah, see you,” Miles calls after him, picking his mug of coffee off the table. His fifth cup of the day, he thinks absently. He should really consider switching to decaf.

 ***

Charlie’s been at college for nearly a month before she finally hears from home – which is a bit pathetic, considering that “home” for her means a 10-minute walk to the president’s on-campus house. To be fair, Charlie thinks, it’s as much her fault as his. She and her dad hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms.

So when Charlie sees the familiar number flashing on the screen of her cell phone, she can’t quite tell if the pang of emotion she feels is happiness, anger, anxiety, or some combination thereof. After a moment of hesitation, she flips open her phone and raises it to her ear. 

“Look, Dad, I’m - ”

“Charlie? It’s Maggie.” 

Charlie blinks, and pushes away the immediate stab of disappointment. “… Oh. Hey, Maggie. What’s going on?”

“Oh, not much! Just checking in!”

Charlie frowns. Maggie’s tone is just a little too bright, and she practically can hear her painfully fake smile through the phone. “Okay, Maggie, tell me the truth. What’s going on?”

Maggie sighs, and Charlie hears her flopping down onto a chair over the line. “We’re worried about you, Charlie. That’s all.”

Charlie groans, and Cara looks up from her insect encyclopedia to glance across the dorm at her questioningly. “Dad told you to call, didn’t he?”

“He didn’t think you’d talk to him.”

“Why would he think that?”

There’s a dry snort of laughter from the other side of the line. “I don’t know, does ‘stay the hell out of my life for five fucking minutes’ ring any bells?”

Charlie feels herself blush a little at that. “Yeah, well, I seem to remember a few choice words on his part, too.”

“Look, Charlie,” says Maggie, starting to sound a little impatient, “I’m not saying either of you are free from blame. But this is getting ridiculous. Ben’s unhappy, even if he’s too damn stubborn to admit it.”

Charlie fidgets uncomfortably, tracing random patterns on her sheets. “Then why doesn’t he just talk to me?”

“I could ask the same of you.” 

“Maggie - ”

“No, really, Charlie. One of you has to be the first to call a truce. Why not you?”

Charlie doesn’t respond, shooting a glance across the room to where Cara’s still perched on the end of her bed, looking at her with a mix of interest and concern.

Maggie sighs, the noise sounding strained and tiny through the phone. “Just… promise me you’ll think about it, Charlie.”

“… yeah. I will.”

“Thanks, Charlie.”

“Maggie,” Charlie adds quickly, before she gets a chance to hang up. “Thanks for calling. Really.”

There is a pause, and Charlie can clearly picture her tired, but genuine, grin. “Any time.”

“Well… see you.”

“Goodbye, Charlie.”

Charlie presses the end call button, staring morosely at her screen for a solid few seconds before flipping it shut and halfheartedly reaching for her calculus homework. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Charlie glances over at Cara, who’s watching her with a careful concern that in and of itself makes her feel a little better. “It’s okay if you don’t.”

Charlie grins tiredly. “I’m fine, Cara. My dad and I… well. We just have different ideas about what I want.”

Charlie’s phone buzzes again, and she can’t help the way her face lights up a bit when she flips it open and sees who the new text is from.

“Jason?” Cara asks, and Charlie doesn’t have to look at her to know she has a smug smile on her face.

“No,” she lies.

Cara snorts. “Yeah, sure.”

Charlie ignores her, opening the text and skimming it quickly.

_so i heard u like coffee. crazy, cuz i like coffee too. theres this place by campus called java bean that makes a mean latte, especially at, say, 3 tomorrow afternoon?_

Charlie rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning as she types out a quick reply.

_a man after my heart. sure, see you then._

The next text comes almost immediately. Charlie opens it, pointedly ignoring Cara’s poorly contained snickering.

_awesome :D oh btw matheson just posted the grades for the papers if u want to see yours_

“Sweet.” Charlie opens her laptop and pulls up Mitchell’s online database. 

***

Miles is halfway through his fourth coffee of the day when the door to office slams open loudly, bouncing off the frame as Charlie walks – scratch that, _storms_ – into the room. He’s gotten used to her intrusions by now, but she doesn’t usually look like someone’s just taken a shit in her morning oatmeal.

“Can I help you, Charlie?” he asks, reminding himself to introduce her Nora. He’s sure they could bond over their mastery of the death glare.

When Charlie answers, her voice is purposely level and calm, which only makes her seem even more livid. “A B minus?”

Miles blinks. He’d always gotten the impression that Charlie takes her schoolwork seriously, but this seems a bit excessive. “Yes. And that’s a perfectly fine grade, Charlie, I don’t see why - ”

“What was wrong with it?” she cuts in. “I’m not going to fight you on the grade, I just want to know what to do better next time.”

Her voice is still dangerously low and even, and Miles doesn’t quite believe her. Nevertheless, he sighs and sets down his mug. “It was an excellent paper, Charlie. It just wasn’t what I asked for. It needed more focus on the historical context and less focus on the poetry itself. This isn’t an English class.” 

Charlie crosses her arms, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Let me rewrite it.”

Miles frowns. “Charlie, this is college. You’ll have to let go of some of your perfectionism. And I’ll have you know, you got one of the highest marks in the class. The first essay of the year is always a little rough for everyone.” 

“But Miles - ”

“Hey! It’s Professor Matheson to you.” She blinks, and he doesn’t miss the flash of hurt in her eyes before she settles back into her stubborn glare. “I don’t care if you’re a family friend, you _can’t_ expect special treatment in this class. If this is going to be an issue, maybe we need to find another academic advisor.”

Miles regrets the words almost as soon as they leave his mouth. Charlie doesn’t even look angry anymore, just cold and a little disappointed. “Look, Charlie, I didn’t mean - ”

“No,” she says curtly. “I get it.” Before Miles can stop, she briskly crosses the small office, pausing briefly at the door. “Sorry for bother you. Professor. 

She slams the door, hard enough that Miles’s desk rattles and a drop of coffee splashes out onto his lesson plan. He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to fight off the killer headache he feels coming on. He may have only known Charlie for a month or so, but he can’t help but think that life was much less complicated without her.

***

“Hey, Cara?”

“Hm?” Cara looks up from the end of the bed, where’s she’d been unscrewing the cap off a bottle of gold nail polish. It would be a perfectly normal picture, except for the intricate picture of a Hogwart’s crest on the sheets next to her, which she is about to attempt to replicate onto Charlie’s big toe.

Charlie fiddles absentmindedly with a strand of her hair, not quite looking Cara in the eyes. “Have you ever… gotten into an argument with someone about something really stupid, and you want to make things better, but you’re not quite sure which one of you needs to apologize and things are just messed up and awkward and - ”

“Whoa, slow down,” Cara says, her brow furrowing. “We’re talking about your dad, right?”

“Oh, yeah!” Charlie says, perhaps a little too quickly. “Of course! Who else would I be talking about?”

Cara raises a skeptical eyebrow, but, to Charlie’s relief, she doesn’t push it. “Okay. So… you want to make it up to him?”

“But there’s nothing to make up!” she protests. “At least, I don’t think there is.”

“Hm.” Cara draws a thin line of gold polish down her toenail. “I think it’s better to just apologize, you know? Even if both of you messed up. It’s better to just swallow your pride and move on, especially if it’s someone you really care about.” She glances up at Charlie. “And you do really care about him, right?”

“Um.” Charlie looks away, trying not to blush, because seriously, why the hell would she do that? “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, then” says Cara happily, adding one last swirl of polish to Charlie’s toe. “That’s settled.” She screws the cap back on. “Once that’s dry, you can do mine! With yellow, of course, because I’m obviously a Hufflepuff.”

“Yeah, sure,” Charlie says, studying her toenails and tuning out the rest of Cara’s rambling. She needs a game plan. 

***

At around 4:30 in the afternoon, Miles hears a tentative knock on his office door. He groans, glancing at the clock. It’s well past visiting hours, and he was hoping for an early night. But there’s a big test in his seminar next week, and he’s been getting a lot of students coming in for help. He doesn’t want anyone to feel unprepared. So he sits up a little straighter in his chair and calls, “It’s open.”

The door opens slowly, and Charlie steps into the office, a cup of coffee in each hand. Miles manages to limit his surprise to a raised eyebrow. “So you finally learned how to knock?” he says, trying for casual and, for the most part, succeeding. Charlie doesn’t respond, or even smile at his feeble attempt a joke. She just stands awkwardly by the door, shifting her weight from one foot to another. Miles sighs and stands up, pulling a chair over to his desk. “Come on, kid. Give me something to work with here.”

After a moment of hesitation, Charlie walks over to the chair and sits. Miles sits across from her, folding his fingers over his stomach and looking at her expectantly. But instead of speaking, she pushes one of the cups of coffee across the desk. Miles looks at her questioningly. 

“Um. I got you coffee,” she says finally.

“I can see that.” 

She fidgets uncomfortably in her chair, taking a deep breath before she finally meets his eyes. “And I wanted to say that I’m sorry. For the other day. I guess I’m really bad at apologizing, so… I got you coffee instead. Because I’m pretty good at getting coffee.”

Miles can’t stop the corner of his mouth from quirking up in a small smile. “Thanks.” He takes the offered cup, his fingers brushing gently against Charlie’s as he does so.         

“I – I didn’t know your coffee order, so I just got the same thing I usually get,” she continues. “I just put in a sprinkle of cinnamon and some soy creamer.”

Miles takes a cautious sip. “It’s good,” he says, surprised to find that he’s telling the truth. It’s different from the strong, black, overly-caffeinated stuff that he usually pumps into his veins, but it’s a nice change.

For the first time since she entered his office, Charlie smiles. It’s small, but it’s there, and Miles is surprised to find how much he’d missed in the short day that they hadn’t seen each other. He hides his own grin by taking another long sip of coffee.

“Look,” he says eventually, setting the cup back down on his desk. “I’m sorry too. I was a little harsh.”

“No, you were right,” says Charlie quickly. “I mean, yeah, you were a bit of a dick about it, but - ”

“Hey now - ”

“ _But_ ,” she continues, cutting him off with another grin. “You had a point. I was being unreasonable.”

Miles feigns a look of shock. “Am I dreaming? Did Charlie Mitchell just admit to being wrong about something?”

Charlie gently kicks his shin under the desk, and Miles chuckles, happy things are back to normal between them. Well, as normal as they’ll ever be, anyway. There’s a silence as they both sip their coffee, but somehow, it’s warm companionable as opposed to awkward. Charlie is the first to break it, still smiling softly down at her cup.

“I think I got so pissed because I wanted to prove myself, y’know? I wanted to impress you or something. In an in-your-face kind of way.”

That tugs uncomfortably at something in Miles’s stomach, because despite his best efforts, it’s impossible not to find her words endearing. “Well, kid,” he says, bringing his coffee cup back up to his lips. “I’m impressed. You happy?" 

And then Charlie full-on _beams_ , like Miles just gave her the entire fucking worldon a platter, and he nearly chokes on his coffee. 

_Well,_ he thinks, as he attempts pass it off as a truly spectacular sneeze. _Shit._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some uncomfortable revelations make Charlie's midterms far more stressful than they need to be.

Winter is, hands down, Miles’s least favorite time of the year, and not just because of the cold. With midterms creeping up, students and faculty alike become increasingly tense, and the excess stress often asserts itself in a universal moodiness that’s tangible in every classroom, hallway and dorm room.

Only Nora seems to be unaffected. Then again, Miles is fairly certain that Nora is a closet sadist.

“You should have seen their faces when I told them there’s a lab portion of the exam!” she says gleefully, spooning roasted sweet potatoes onto her tray. “Really though, what did they expect? It’s a biochem course!”

“You seem awfully happy about this,” Miles says, skeptically eyeing a pan of what he thinks is beef casserole. He usually steers clear of the Mitchell cafeteria whenever possible, but with exams in a little over a week, he doesn’t have time to go off campus during his lunch break.

“Hey, if they’ve been studying and paying attention during lectures, they’ll be fine,” says Nora. “Then again, that probably rules out half the class.” Her eyes glint dangerously, and her smile shows a few too many teeth to be humorous. “I can’t _wait_ to fail those two assholes in the back row who are always texting.”

Miles gulps involuntarily, and reminds himself for what’s probably the tenth time that week to stay on Nora’s good side.

“Oh, by the way,” she adds, sliding her tray down the line and reaching for a muffin. “Aaron’s looking for a few people to chaperone the Winter Ball. He told me to ask you.”

Miles snorts as he fiddles with the buttons on the coffee machine. “Not on your life. You couldn’t pay me to go to that school-sponsored mating ritual.”

Nora rolls her eyes. “Do you always have to be so cynical?”

“Pot. Kettle.”

“Point taken.” She frowns when Miles pours a splash of soy creamer into his coffee. “I thought you took your coffee black.”

Miles shrugs as he reaches for the cinnamon. “Just thought I’d try something new.”

 

***

 

At around 7 PM, Miles slides his laptop into its case, planning on completing the rest of his work at home. But just as he’s gathering up the remaining papers strewn across his desk, he hears someone knock softly on the office door. Miles sighs, internally cursing whichever student waited this late to ask for help. Nevertheless, he calls “It’s unlocked,” and settles back into his chair.

The door cracks open, and Charlie steps in. Miles raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Charlie closes the door behind her and walks hesitantly to his desk before speaking.

“Sorry, professor, I know it’s late, but – I was wondering if I could stay here for a while? I’m trying to find somewhere quiet to study.”

“Of course, Charlie. I have some work to finish, too, and I could use the company.” Miles is surprised to find that his words are genuine. As late as it is, the idea of working in Charlie’s silent but companionable presence is far more appealing than working alone at home.

Charlie sits down in her usual chair and gets straight to work, plowing through what looks like an economics study guide. Miles returns to his own work, grading a stack of in-class essays and answering students’ frantic emails about the impending exam. They work together in silence, punctuated only by the tapping of Miles’s fingers on the keyboard. Finally, Charlie lets out a cross between a sigh of relief an exhausted groan, dropping her pencil and slumping back in the chair. Miles grins at her over his computer. “Exam stress getting to you?”

Charlie sighs, rubbing at her temples. “Nah, I’m fine. I just never want to see an economics textbook again.”

Miles chuckles. “If you hate econ so much, business might not be the best major for you.”

Charlie glares at the thick packet on the table in front of her. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “I know.”

Miles frowns. He hadn’t been serious, but his words seem to have single-handedly lowered the temperature of the room by a few degrees. Searching around for a change of subject, he says, “So, why the late-night visit? Is your roommate playing the violin again?”

“Viola. And no, she had a Skype date with her girlfriend. I thought I’d give them some privacy.”

Miles raises an eyebrow. “… _oh._ ”

Charlie blushes furiously, and Miles is relieved to see a small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Oh my God, not _that_ kind of Skype date! At least, I don’t think – I’m pretty sure they were just - ”

Miles can’t help but laugh. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” he says as Charlie glares at him, still slightly pink. “Anyway, it’s nice that they’re keeping in touch. Long-distance relationships are tough.

“Yeah,” Charlie says, smiling softly. “It’s really sweet, actually. Her girlfriend’s still in high school, but they talk or text almost every day. I think they’ll make it.”

“How about you?”

The question is out of Miles’ mouth before he can stop it. Charlie looks at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Miles clears his throat, suddenly far more fascinated by the sub-par essay on American isolationism that he had been a second ago. “I just meant… do you have someone from high school? A boyfriend or girlfriend?”

Charlie seems taken aback, and Miles immediately beings formulating an apology. But before he can speak, Charlie interrupts his thoughts. “No,” she says with a small laugh. “The closest I ever came to having a boyfriend was going to semi with some guy from my physics class. He turned out to be a complete asshole, so I ditched him and went home to watch Downton Abbey.”

Miles barks out a laugh, something suspiciously close to relief curling in his chest. Charlie grins back at him, before glancing at her watch and giving a slight start.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how late it was.”

Miles looks at his own watch, surprised by how quickly the time had passed. “No, it’s fine,” he says. “I got a lot of work done.”

“Still, I should get back,” she says, standing and beginning to pack up her work. “I told Cara I’d study calc with her tonight.

“Okay,” Miles says. “Hey, do you want to me to walk you back to your dorm? Boston’s not exactly the safest place this late at night.”

Charlie shoots him an exasperated look. “My dorm’s less than ten minutes away from here. I’ll be fine.”

Miles grins, and gets up to open the door for her. “Are you sure you won’t get lost again?”

Charlie groans. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Seriously though,” Miles says. “Be careful. And make sure you get enough sleep this week, okay? Don’t stay up too late studying.”

“Okay, okay!” Charlie laughs, walking over to the door. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Miles says. “But your dad would never forgive me if I let you burn yourself out in your first semester.”

Charlie’s grin falters. “I doubt he cares that much,” she says, and Miles frowns.

“Trust me, Charlie. He does.”

Charlie nods, but doesn’t seem entirely convinced.

Miles sighs and opens the door, deciding to save this particular battle for another time. “Goodnight, Charlie. Get some rest.”

“Goodnight, Professor.”

 

***

 

When Charlie gets back to her dorm room, Cara is sitting on her bed with a grin on her face and her calc papers strewn across the sheets. “Hey, you,” she says.

“Hey,” says Charlie, dumping her bag onto Cara’s bed and pulling off her jacket.  “How’s Nicole?”

“Great!” Cara says happily. “She got the lead in the school musical.”

“Good for her.” Charlie moves Cara’s papers around until there’s enough room for her to sit. “Ready to get to get started?”

“Yeah. I’ve already reviewed through chapter 3.”

“Okay,” Charlie says, pulling her textbook out of her back. “Sorry I got back so late, by the way. I was studying with Professor Matheson.”

“Oh!” Cara’s grin widens. “He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”

Charlie feels herself blush. “I mean – I guess. He’s kind of old for you, Cara. And male.”

Cara laughs. “I know, but still! He’s cute. He and Professor Clayton must have been such an attractive couple.”

Charlie drops her pencil in surprise, and it feels like her stomach is dropping along with it. “Wait, you – you mean… Professor Matheson and Professor Clayton were – ”

“Yup. My sister told me about them. She went here about four years ago, and apparently they were pretty serious.”

Charlie swallows and picks her pencil back up, trying to school her face into an expression of disinterest. Cara cocks her head, a slight crease between her brows. “Is something wrong?”

“No! Of course not!” Charlie grins, and she can tell without even seeing herself that it looks fake. “So, I’ve been having some trouble with this problem. Do you still have the notes on integration by parts?”

Cara is still studying her a little more intently than Charlie is comfortable with, but after a moment she starts searching through the pile of paper on the bed. “Yeah, I think so.”

Later that night, Charlie stares up at the ceiling, unable to sleep, despite the exhaustion weighing on her from the hours of studying. It’s absurd, she knows – Miles is her teacher, she’s only known her for a few months, and she has no right to know the details of his personal life – but she feels oddly betrayed, as though Miles had been lying to her.

_It seemed like he was – like we were –_

Charlie rolls over, stopping that dangerous thought in its tracks. She’s not stupid. She knows that their interactions have stepped over the line that’s supposed separate teacher and student, that their banter has begun inching closer to, well, _flirting_. She knows how it could look to an outsider. And, more importantly, she knows that their relationship, for lack of a better word, needs to stop before it goes any further. Charlie would never forgive herself if he lost his job over a misunderstanding.

_It’s not a big deal,_ she thinks. _I’ll just stop seeing him so often. There are other places where I can study. It’s not like he’ll miss me._

Charlie tugs the blanket closer up to her chin, trying to block out Cara’s snores and the twisting of her stomach. She finally drifts off at 4 in the morning, more unhappy than she’s been in weeks.

 

***

 

“So then the kid and panics and tries to put out the fire, but instead of water, he grabs the bottle of _ethanol –_ ”

“Yeah?” Miles says, not looking up from his bowl of clam chowder.

“… and then Vladimir Putin burst in wearing a kimono and carrying a fire extinguisher.”

“Mhm.”

“Miles,” Nora snaps. “Are you even listening to me?”

Miles looks up guiltily. “Um… yes?”

Nora rolls her eyes. “What’s been up with you lately? You’ve been acting funny all week.”

Miles stirs his soup, glaring at the questionable looking chunks that are supposed to be some sort of vegetable. He should really talk to Ben about improving the on-campus dining. “It’s nothing, really.” Nora raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “I’m just a little tired. My students have been emailing night and day with questions they should already know the answers to.”

Nora snorts. “That’s their problem.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

The truth – the truth that he can barely begin to explain to himself, let alone Nora – is that he’s worried about Charlie. She hasn’t been to his office since the night when she’d showed up at his office to study Miles had asked that fucking _stupid_ question. Worse, she’s started avoiding him before and after class again, showing up minutes before the beginning of the period and bolting the second he dismisses them. Miles wishes he could write it off as exam stress, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’d said or done something terribly wrong and permanently damaged their relationship.

_No,_ he thinks. _This is a good thing. Charlie’s young, she should be enjoying college, hanging out with her friends, not wasting time with an old guy like me.  
_

It sounds so convincing in his head that he almost believes it.

 

***

 

The week passes by in a blur of study sessions with Cara, visits to the library, and innumerable cups of coffee. Charlie pushes herself a little harder than is probably necessary, spending every waking hour working until she collapses into her bed in the early hours of the morning, too exhausted to think. She’s always been and overachiever, and it’s only natural that she’d want to ace her first set of exams.

It’s not because she wants to keep herself too busy to think about anything other than school. That would be stupid. 

All in all, it’s a bit of a relief when the exams actually start and she can put all of her work to use. Calculus goes as smoothly as could be expected, and she actually leaves the economics exam feeling confident that she’d secured an A. Her last exam is military history, and although she’d prepared just as thoroughly for this exam as others, she still feels a twist of nerves when she walks into the classroom on the morning of the test.

“Okay,” Professor Matheson says when everyone’s seated, and the sound of his voice makes the bundle of nerves in her stomach twist a little tighter. “You will have two hours to complete the exam, and I’d recommend keeping your eye on the clock so you can pace yourself. You should plan on about 45 minutes for the multiple choice, 15 minutes for the short answer, and an hour for the essay.” He walks up and down the rows of desks as he speaks, placing a packet face down in front of each student. Charlie keeps her eyes fixed firmly in front of her when he reaches her desk. It’s probably her imagination, but she thinks he pauses for a second before moving on to the next student.

“Your time starts now. Good luck.”

Charlie flips the exam over and begins her work. She gets through the multiple choice and short answer questions quickly, and finishes her essay with about 15 minutes to spare. She passes the time by looking over her answers to the multiple choice section, and when Miles calls, “Times up, pencils down,” she lets out a small huff of relief and slumps back in her chair. “I’ll get your grades up as soon possible. Enjoy your break.”

Charlie grabs her bag and makes a beeline for the door, but before she can reach it, she’s stopped by a hand on her wrist and a voice saying, “Hey, Charlie, wait up!”

She turns to find Jason grinning at her a little nervously. Charlie wants nothing more than to get back to her dorm and sleep for a few weeks, but she forces herself to smile and say, “Oh, hi Jason!”

“So, when are you heading back home?” he asks.

“Well, my dad actually lives on campus in the president’s house, so I’ll be here all break.”

Jason’s face lights up. “So you’ll be here for the winter ball?”

Charlie blinks, suddenly realizing where this is gong. “Yeah, I guess.”

"Well, I was wondering,” Jason says, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “I mean – do you want to go to the dance with me?”

There’s a dull thud from the opposite side of the room, and Charlie glances in the direction of the noise. Professor Matheson had apparently dropped his book, and is stooping under his desk to retrieve it. He stands and catches Charlie gaze, and she holds it for a moment before turning back to Jason.

“Sure, I’d love to go. Sounds like fun.”


End file.
